Category: Appreciation

The Ribbon of Music in Our Lives

Life is a long and winding road.  Along the way, music teaches us to let it be, to take it easy, and to carry on. Sometimes, it whispers, “you’ve got a friend,” and other times it shouts, “don’t stop believing!” Through every high and low, music lifts us when we’re down and brings light to our darkest days.

It inspires us to learn to fly, take the long way home, and dream the impossible dream. It tells us to follow the yellow brick road and live like you were dying. When the world gets heavy, we can put our toes in the water, our ass in the sand and live knee deep in the water somewhere. It’s a gentle reminder to hold on loosely or to simply keep the faith.

When we’re all alone, it wraps us in a warm embrace, softly humming, “I’m with you,” and promising, “I’ll stand by you.” It keeps us company when we’re wasting away again in Margaritaville or stranded in the purple rain (whatever that is).  

Music sets the tone for life’s moments. It’s the sweet sound of silence in the still of the night, the easy rhythms of cheeseburgers in paradise, and the fiery rush of being thunderstruck. It’s the gentle plea of someone asking, “Have you ever seen the rain?” and the daring call to take a walk on the wild side. It urges us to dance in the dark and reminds us that it’s five o’clock somewhere.

It can challenge us to ask what’s going on, or who are you? It paints visions of wide-open spaces, islands in the sun, and clear mountain mornings. It reminds us that we’re merely candles in the wind and there’s never a wish better than this when you’ve only got one hundred years to live.  So, dream until your dreams come true.

Music brings us together to clap our hands, stomp our feet, and feel the beat.  It calls us to praise every morning. It’s a bridge over troubled water.  It’s an anthem of unity.  We’re rockin’ in the free world. There ain’t no stopping us now.   

Music is more than sound.  It’s a ribbon in the sky, an endless summer, a stairway to heaven, and friends shaking hands. It weaves through our lives, bringing joy to each new day.  

Take it to the limit.  Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow.

After all, music reminds us what a wonderful world it truly is.

A quick word about copyrights.  This post is my attempt to create a cohesive thematic message using as many song lyrics as possible (trust me, there are 100’s more that didn’t fit) from artists I’ve loved over the years.  Borrowing their words was a fun writing challenge, and an homage to the original artists. 

By my quick count, I’ve referenced lyrics from over 50 songs, placing them like Easter eggs or tile fragments in a mosaic.  Most are obvious and easy to find…a few may be obscure and tougher to recognize.

In the end, it’s only rock ‘n roll, but I like it.  (couldn’t resist one more).   

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

The Manger and the Memories: A Christmas Story

It happens to all of us this time of year. The days get shorter, the winds grow crisper.  Something stirs within us that doesn’t quite fit the mold of any other season. There’s joy, sure—joy enough to make us believe in miracles again. But alongside that joy, like the shadows cast by twinkling lights, there’s a touch of sorrow. Like an old friend who shows up every December, pulls up a chair, and says nothing at all.

Words that lie dormant eleven months out of the year come alive at Christmas time. Jingle Bells. Rudolph. Good tidings. Noel. The Manger. Words so beautiful and strange, yet they create beautiful poetry on our hearts.  Sugarplums dancing in dreams. Mulling spices on the stove. Decorations we see only in this season but remember more fondly with each passing year—twinkles of joy at their best, empty reminders at their worst. And somehow, merriment and brightness find their way in, even when the years haven’t always been kind.

If you listen closely, you can hear hymns calling us across the cold and lonely nights:

“O come, O come, Emmanuel”

“Silent Night”

“What Child is This?”

There’s a funny thing about Christmas—it’s a season of paradox. A time for rejoicing, and a time for remembering. For celebrating, and for mourning. All in the same breath.

Every year, the world gathers around a single story. A manger in Bethlehem, where our Savior came as a child. It’s a story that whispers hope into the cracks of our broken hearts.

“Fear not, O Zion, be not discouraged!” That’s what the prophet Zephaniah said. “The Lord, your God, is in your midst.” And somehow, two thousand years later, we do believe. We light candles and sing songs of joy—because we need to. Because joy matters.

It’s funny how much effort we put into this season. Trees trimmed. Ornaments hung. Villages built. Wishes made. And when the last batch of cookies or Cornish pasties come out of the oven, we sit at tables crowded with food, and laughter, and the people we love. Sometimes we even catch a glimpse of something eternal in it all—the way the lights reflect off the fancy silverware, or how a child’s eyes light up at the first sight of presents.

But there are empty chairs. They’re harder to discuss. Maybe it’s a father, a mother, a grandparent, or a sister. Maybe it’s a friend, a brother, an aunt or an uncle who have gone far too soon. We feel their absence even more at Christmas. We see them in the lights we hang, and the hot chocolates that we make. We hear them in old songs, the ones we used to sing.

And then there are the faces we miss in another way—our family who are still with us but just too far away. The ones across states, oceans, and time zones. We think of them when we pull out the old family recipes and photo albums.  We wish they could be here to see the kids open presents, to share in the laughter over the pies that we burned, or took out too soon.  But instead, we send texts and pictures, leave voicemails, and whisper a prayer hoping they know how much they’re loved, even from so far away.

Yet even in sorrow, there’s something beautiful. Because love never really leaves us. And maybe that’s the greatest promise of Christmas—the one hidden behind all the ornaments and stockings, and twinkling lights. That the Child who came to a manger promises us something more. He promises that the story isn’t over. That one day, we’ll all sit at a table that never empties, in a place where joy knows no end.

For now, we celebrate as best we can. We bake our pies and pour our cider. We listen for sleigh bells in the distance and leave room in our hearts for joy to enter—just like it always does.

And when the night gets quiet, and the fire burns low, we remember. We remember the ones we’ve loved, the ones we’ve lost, the ones too far away to join us, and the One who came to bring us home.

That’s Christmas. A little light, a little shadow. A little merry, a little sorrow. A season that changes the very words we speak and, if we let it, changes the very hearts we carry.

So if you’re out there tonight, sipping mulled cider by the window, just know this:

You’re not alone. The Savior is here. He’s in the manger. He’s in the laughter. And He’s in the quiet, too.

And maybe—just maybe—He’s singing over you, as one sings at a festival.

The Bible verse that inspired this post when I heard it in Church last Sunday:

Shout for joy, O daughter Zion!
        Sing joyfully, O Israel!
    Be glad and exult with all your heart,
        O daughter Jerusalem!
    The LORD has removed the judgment against you
        he has turned away your enemies;
    the King of Israel, the LORD, is in your midst,
        you have no further misfortune to fear.
    On that day, it shall be said to Jerusalem:
        Fear not, O Zion, be not discouraged!
    The LORD, your God, is in your midst,
        a mighty savior;
    he will rejoice over you with gladness,
        and renew you in his love,
    he will sing joyfully because of you,
        as one sings at festivals.

– Zep 3:14-18a

The Comfort Trap

There’s nothing like your own bed, your own pillow, and nice warm blankets when it’s time to sleep. To confirm this truism, try backpacking for a few nights in freezing conditions. Your lightweight sleeping pad and mummy sack might keep you alive, but they’re no match for the comfort of home.

Or spend a couple of weeks living out of a suitcase, hopping from one hotel bed to another. It’s rare for a hotel bed to be anything but “hammock-shaped” with giant pillows that defy logic and offer little comfort. 

We all love to be comfortable. Ask most people, and they’ll tell you they’d rather sit at home in their jammies in their favorite chair, watching their favorite movie with their go-to snacks and drink in hand.

Comfort is easy. It requires little effort, and even less thought.

It’s safe, predictable, and free of fear. We know exactly how to achieve it, and we stay there because it feels good.

That’s the problem. Comfort is about staying. It’s about achieving sameness.

Growth doesn’t happen in comfort. The magic begins when we step outside our cozy bubble.

Trying new things, exploring unfamiliar places, or learning new skills rarely feels comfortable at first. It’s awkward and often frustrating. But with time, practice, and patience, we adjust. The uncomfortable becomes comfortable. We expand our boundaries. We redefine what normal feels like.

We grow.

Comfort is incredible. It’s that perfect combination of warmth, ease, and familiarity. It offers a necessary break from life’s challenges. But if we make it our ultimate goal, it lulls us into complacency. It encourages us to settle, to avoid risks, to stop growing.

Celebrate the moments of comfort when they come. Appreciate them for what they are—a place to rest and recharge. But don’t let comfort hold you back.

Keep exploring.

Keep taking risks.

Keep pushing past the edges of your comfort zone.

That’s where the real magic happens.

Photo by Amy Humphries on Unsplash

The Ripples We Leave Behind

“No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away, until the clock wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone’s life is only the core of their actual existence.” 

– Terry Pratchett, Source: Reaper Man (h/t – James Clear)

Every so often, we’re reminded of our mortality…especially as we get older and face the loss of loved ones, both young and old. 

Truly, it’s a matter of time for each of us.  Not an if, but a when. 

I appreciated seeing this quote today. 

It’s a reminder of the enduring mark we leave on others.  Far beyond the days we live, we influence the lives we touch, leaving lasting impressions.  

A tribute to those we’ve lost and how they continue to be with us.  Our memories of them, the lessons they teach us, their legacy of connections.  All of it remains and echoes in our conversations, our thoughts, our choices, and even in the way we approach the rest of our life.    

We are here only briefly, but we’re each given the opportunity to plant seeds.  Seeds that, in time, may bear fruit for others long after we’re gone.    

A gentle reminder to make sure that our legacy is a positive one, filled with love, wisdom, and warmth.

So the ripples of our lives continue to inspire and uplift those we leave behind.

Photo by zhang kaiyv on Unsplash

Leaving on Time, the Next Higher Gear, and Traction: A few lessons Uncle Denby taught me

Most of my childhood outside of school is a blur of off-road riding and racing (and lots of water skiing, but that’s another story).

We were either preparing to ride, camping in the desert to ride, racing in the desert (although I didn’t race nearly as much as everyone else), or providing pit support for others who were racing.

By the time I was about 10 years old, Uncle Denby (my dad’s younger brother) had become a serious racer in Baja.  By the time I was about to enter high school, he was racing for Team Honda in Baja.  The Hilltoppers, the motorcycle club my dad and Uncle Denby belonged to (that I’d join a little later) put on annual Grand Prix races in Rosarito Beach. 

Between the Baja racing, pre-running trips, adventure riding to Mike’s Sky Ranch and San Felipe, and numerous trips to Rosarito Beach to set up the race each year, we were in Baja a lot.  I remember watching the Dallas “who shot JR” episode on a small television in a hotel bar in Rosarito Beach.

All of this meant I got to ride with Uncle Denby regularly.  He was always ready.  His bike was perfectly tuned.  His gear was impeccably organized.  He was dialed in.  He expected everyone around him to be as dialed in as he was. 

For most Baja rides, we had a scheduled time for departure.  Maybe at first light, or 7:30am.  To Uncle Denby, this meant we’d be putting our bikes in gear and leaving at the scheduled departure time.  Not putting gas in our bikes, trying to find our goggles, or figuring out why our backpack wouldn’t fit right.  He’d say, “Do all of that on your own time.  If you need an hour to get ready, wake up early and get it done.” 

Since I rarely knew where we were going, and Uncle Denby was usually leading the way, I quickly learned to be fully ready with my bike idling at departure time.  I operate this way today, even though I haven’t ridden a motorcycle in decades. 

Whoops are a fact of life in off-road riding.  These are undulations in the trail caused by countless vehicles digging a little bit of dirt and relocating it to the top of the whoop behind it as they race by.  Certain sections of the California desert where we used to ride are notorious for miles of 2-3 foot (or larger) whoops.  Sections of Baja are similarly whooped-out. 

I struggled with whoops.  I don’t know anyone who likes riding whoops, but some people can fly through them.  That wasn’t me.  Lucky for me, Uncle Denby happened to come up behind me in a whoop section.  He had stopped to help someone else, so I and many others in our group got ahead of him on the trail.  Once he was back on his bike, it didn’t take him long to catch me.    

This time, he didn’t pass.  He stayed behind me for a couple of miles.  Then he rolled on the throttle and went right by me, smooth as ever.  When we regrouped for gas a while later, he came over and asked me what gear I was in when he came past.  I was in third gear, maybe three-quarter throttle. 

He said I was riding in too low of a gear.  I needed to work on riding the next higher gear if I wanted to find a smooth way through the whoops.  He told me he was watching me ride and getting exhausted for me.  He could tell that I was working way too hard.  Moving to the next higher gear at half-throttle would get me on top of the whoops with more speed and reduce my workload on the bike. 

None of this was obvious to me, but second nature to Uncle Denby.  Later that day, we came up to another (shorter) section of whoops.  I eased into fourth gear and carried a lot more smoothness into the section.  The whoops were still challenging, but not nearly as hard as before…and I was moving at a much higher pace.  I was conserving energy and riding faster (and safer) by clicking up one gear.

Something else about that next higher gear…traction.  Ride in too low of a gear, especially on a two-stroke, and your back tire has a tough time staying stuck to the ground.  Forward motion is all about smooth and consistent traction.  If your power isn’t making it to the ground, you’re not moving.  A spinning rear tire isn’t taking you anywhere.  Everything is working hard, but nothing is happening. 

We had another riding day, this time out on the Rosarito Beach Grand Prix course.  We rode most of the loop together.  The course had lots of high-speed sections and fast turns.  We were having a great time, riding wheel-to-wheel.  Obviously, he could have left me in the dust, but he pushed me at my pace and showed me how to brake before the turns, and then accelerate out to maintain the most speed and control. 

Yet another aspect of traction.  No traction, no turning.  If you’re on the brakes in the turn, you don’t have the same traction and control as you do if you’re accelerating out of the top of the turn.  Timing when to get off the gas, when to brake, and when to accelerate made all the difference in the world. 

Something else Uncle Denby taught me that day.

I was sad to hear that Uncle Denby passed away last night.  He battled a tough disease for quite some time.

I will always treasure the lessons he taught me.  He probably thought he was teaching his nephew how to ride a motorcycle faster and smoother. 

But he was really teaching me how to dial myself in, how to find the next gear, and how to maintain proper traction in all situations.

Godspeed, Uncle Denby, and thank you for riding with me.

The Strangeness of September

As a kid, September marked the end of summer’s glorious freedom and the start of another school year. Truth is, by mid-August, all the kids on my street were getting bored and restless, ready for something new.

My birthday is in September. But because it coincided with back-to-school season, my presents were school clothes. Useful, yes, but hardly the exciting stuff of childhood fantasies. My brother, whose birthday is also in September, was in the same boat—more school clothes. Still, it usually meant two cakes in one month, which always felt like a win.

Fast forward to adulthood.  September takes on a new meaning, especially if you own or run a business. It’s the last month of the third quarter—the point where you should have a pretty good idea if your business is on track for the year. Strategic planning for next year is underway — the annual cycle never stops. Little time to pause and reflect.  There’s always a new deadline, a new target. September is less about questions and more about answers and execution.

Then life throws in its own strange layers. In 2019, my father passed away on my birthday. A heavy twist of fate that turned my annual day of celebration into something far more complicated. In a strange twist of symmetry, last year, my mom died on my brother’s birthday.

Now, both of our birthdays are marked not just by the passage of time, but by the memories of losing our parents, their passing dates forever linked to our birth dates.

September marks the birth of my oldest son-in-law, my youngest daughter (32 years ago tomorrow), and one of our eight grandchildren (also tomorrow).  Lots of celebrating and gift giving…and some ice cream, of course.

All of it adds up to a certain strangeness in September for me—a month of beginnings and of endings. A mix of personal milestones and bittersweet memories.

p/c – Blessing Ri on Unsplash

Why Manners Matter

“Manners are of more importance than laws. Upon them, in a great measure, the laws depend. The law touches us but here and there, and now and then. Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible operation, like that of the air we breathe in.” – Edmund Burke

-Why do we say Please and Thank You? 

-Why do we hold the door for the next person? 

-Why do we show respect for our elders? 

-Why don’t we interrupt someone when they’re speaking (at least, most of the time)?

Mostly because we were taught these behaviors by our parents, or someone in authority, when we were growing up.  We may have learned by being told explicitly, or by watching others that we admire acting in these ways. 

As Burke points out, manners are more important than laws.  They are fundamental in establishing the boundaries of our behavior, of integrating us within our community.

Manners show our respect for those around us.  They create a standard for how we work with others.    

Consider the manners (customs) that are in play where you work.  It doesn’t matter if you work in construction, nursing, information technology, or any other field.  If you work with people (which you always do whether they are your co-workers, your customers, or both), your manner of behavior will be critical to your success. Good manners create a positive environment, build strong relationships, and foster a culture of respect and professionalism.

Since we are creatures of habit, it’s easy to establish either a habit for lacking manners, or for having them.  The disciplined decision to operate your life within the bounds of good manners is a decision that will pay consistent dividends.  Good manners can be the foundation for a disciplined approach across all areas of your life.  When we are polite and considerate, we remind ourselves of our values and our commitment to treating others (and ourselves) with dignity.

The simple act of saying “Please” and “Thank You” (and meaning it) shows our vulnerability to others, and at the same time, our appreciation for what they have done for us.  Powerful ways to remind us of our humility and gratitude many times each day. 

Edmund Burke observed, “Example is the school of mankind, and they will learn at no other.”  Our behavior and proper manners will be a teacher to those around us, whether we intend it or not.  Our actions, grounded in good manners, can inspire those around us to adopt similar behaviors.

It’s easy for each new generation to look at the rules and traditions of prior generations (manners) as archaic, overly formalized, and irrelevant in their “new modern era.”   They may rationalize away the need for good manners on this basis.  However, dismissing the importance of manners can lead to a breakdown in social cohesion. Our challenge is to adapt the principles to modern contexts while preserving the core values of respect and consideration.

Manners are a timeless currency that never loses value—so spend them generously and watch how rich life can become.

p/c Robert Collins on Unsplash

Process Over Outcome — The True Value of Life’s Challenges

The year spent training for a triathlon isn’t just about race day.  It’s about the discipline, endurance, and self-discovery that come with each mile ran, every beach swim, and each grueling mile logged on the bike.  The race is the goal, but the transformation to triathlete happens during the journey to the starting line. 

What about Basic Training for the Marine Corps (something I haven’t personally experienced)?  Recruits aren’t merely learning the basic skills they’ll need to be successful.  They are becoming something entirely new…a Marine. The recruit is transformed into a Marine by the training process.   

Consider a four-year college degree.  It’s been said (not sure who said it first) that the main thing a recruiter learns about a college graduate is that they had to apply themselves adequately over a four (or five, or six) year period to get enough class credits to graduate in their chosen major. Each college graduates’ journey is different, and that journey is often as valuable as the classes they had to take to get their degree.  

Even smaller experiences like a short hike, a long drive to visit family, or a phone call with a friend can offer more than just their immediate outcomes. They can provide moments of reflection, connection, and growth.

Life’s experiences are not just a series of goals to be checked off or memories to be cherished.

When we learn to enjoy the process and the lessons along the way, we gain something far more valuable: growth, understanding, and the ability to appreciate the transforming power of our journey.

 Photo by Matt Howard on Unsplash

Running Through the Tall Grass

“You will know that your children will be many, and your descendants like the grass of the earth.” – Job 5:25

This image of my granddaughter running through the tall grass lingers in my mind, a snapshot of pure joy and freedom. The grass climbs high as her shoulders, swaying in the gentle breeze as she runs, her laughter echoing across the open field.

The sun, high in the sky, casts a warm glow across the landscape, reflecting off the stalks and highlighting the strands of her long blonde hair. It’s a moment of unbridled innocence, an expression of life at its most carefree—a reminder of the potential and possibilities that lie ahead in her life.

Watching her, I’m struck by how this simple act of running, so natural and effortless, captures the essence of childhood. Children have an innate ability to live fully in the present, to see the world as a place of wonder and adventure. For them, the future is not something to be feared, but something to eagerly anticipate. Every new experience is a chance to explore, to learn, to grow. In her dash through the tall grass, we get a glimpse of how life is meant to be lived—full of energy, curiosity, and a fearless embrace of the unknown.

As the years (decades) go by, it’s easy to lose our innocence, our thirst for adventure. We may see our future with a sense of foreboding, even doom…rather than an opportunity to expand our journey. We allow the sense of adventure that once propelled us forward to be dulled by the responsibilities and challenges that life inevitably brings. Our carefree days of childhood disappear into the past.

The passage of time doesn’t have to diminish our sense of adventure. We can choose to embrace life with the same enthusiasm and curiosity that we had as children. We can still find joy in the simple pleasures, still run toward the unknown with hope in our hearts.

Life’s journey is not about avoiding the tall grass, but about diving into it, feeling the sun warm our backs and the gentle breeze cooling our faces. It’s about seeing each day as an opportunity to expand our horizons, to live fully and freely, just as my grandkids do.

The tall grass may rise like a challenge, but it is also where the most profound discoveries await. And as I step into that field, I carry with me the certainty that the journey ahead, like the path I’ve already walked, holds boundless potential.

In a field of tall grass she runs,
her golden hair warmed by the sun,
each step a whisper of freedom,
the horizon an open invitation.

I watch her and remember—
the world for me was once this wide,
full of endless possibilities,
before fear narrowed that view.

But the grass still sways,
and I can still run,
following her laughter,
knowing the path ahead
will bring great discoveries,

a promise of new beginnings.

p/c – My daughter, Julianne, texted this photo earlier this week of Lizzy running through the tall grass of their pasture.  The moment I saw the photo, I knew the topic of my next blog post. 

Taking Your Team on a Vision Quest

In the early 2000s, I attended one of our company’s national meetings. Our new CEO opened the meeting with a keynote address.

After thanking everyone for attending, he discussed the company’s three key strategic initiatives. He tied each of them back to the overall goals and mission of the company, underscoring how critical each manager attending the meeting (and our teams) would be to making these initiatives come to fruition.

His address lasted about fifteen minutes. He had a few slides to accompany his talk, but nothing flashy. In those fifteen minutes, we understood his vision, what we were supposed to do, and how we were empowered to make it happen. We were unified and energized.

Later that day, I thanked him for his talk. I mentioned how concise it was and appreciated that he didn’t spend an hour on CEO-speak and rah-rah platitudes. He smiled and explained that he was concise because he articulates versions of that talk multiple times each day.

He shared that wherever he traveled, whenever he visited one of our company’s offices or met with employees or customers, he made sure they understood what we were doing and how important each of them was to the company’s success. He knew that in a company with over 15,000 employees, it was impossible to speak to or know every one of them. But, whenever he encountered employees, he knew they’d remember what he said and appreciate knowing how they are connected to the company’s success.

He was so concise and effective because he lived and breathed the vision and its importance every day and shared it freely with everyone.

Applying This in Your Leadership

You don’t have to be a Fortune 100 CEO to communicate like this. As a servant leader, commit to using your finite time and energy to communicate openly and freely with your team members. Make sure they understand the plan and their part in it. Take time to understand the challenges they face, listen to their ideas, ask probing questions, and let them know how important they are to the success of the department, division, or company.

Your team can’t wait to accompany you on a vision quest. They just need to know what they’re doing, where they’re going, and that you value their contribution to the quest.

Effective communication from leadership is not about the quantity of words but the quality of the message. By being concise, clear, and consistent, you can inspire and motivate your team to achieve great things.

Start today by articulating your vision and showing your team how much you value their contributions.

Photo by jesse orrico on Unsplash